


Till All Are One....Again

by GrumpyBox



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Sad with a Happy Ending, also sparklings, at least I hope it ends happy, bad politicians, honestly my heart hurts while writing this fic, the government sucks in this fic, this will be sad guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyBox/pseuds/GrumpyBox
Summary: “I understand.” Drift drew in one steadying breath. “I’m ready.”“Are you?” Flatscrew asked one last time. They looked at Drift patiently and pushed compassion into their field. They wanted Drift to know that no one was forcing him to do this....and that no one would judge him if he didn’t.“I am.” Drift replied.Deep down inside, he knew he’d truly never be.++++When Ratchet passed away, Drift never thought his life would be the same again....and he was right.





	1. The Prayer of Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Donec Omnia Sunt Unum....Iterum
> 
> Till All Are One….Again

 

  
  
**_Oratio Luctus_ **

 

**_Ubi autem abiit o Domine?_ **

**_Quare dereliquit me?_ **

**_Quare reliquit gravida fugiens, in tribulatióne?_ **

**_Sunt mea munera non satis, o Domine?_ **

**_Numquid non verbum est?_ **

**_Ego offendi te, o Domine?_ **

**_Ubi autem abiit o Domine?_ **

**_Quid ego sentio dolorem?_ **

 

 

 

Translation:

 

The Prayer of Mourning

 

Why have you abandoned me?

Why have you left your child wandering in distress?

Were my offerings not enough oh Lord? 

Did I disobey your word?

Have I offended you oh Lord?

Where have you gone oh Lord?

Why do I feel pain?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

+++

 

Drift trudged back through the doors of his and Ratchet’s old apartment complex. He was certain that a few neighbors had waved to him on his way back but he paid them no mind, he wasn’t in the mood today. He leaned against the archway leading into the living room and watched as movers ran to and fro about the surprisingly modest domicile and strip the condo clean of any proof that it was once lived in. Drift couldn’t stand the thought of living here anymore. Not without Ratchet. There were too many memories. Too many late nights staying up on the sofa waiting for Ratchet to come back from a surgery. Too many afternoons spent meditating -- or in Ratchet’s case dozing -- together on those rare occasions where Ratchet didn’t have to go to the hospital. Too many early mornings when the sun would rise above Iacon and Drift would awake to the warm feeling of Ratchet in his arms. The low thrum of Ratchet’s engine was still fresh in Drift’s audials, how his conjunx’s optics were a dim sapphire as he began the slow process of rebooting his systems in the morning then would cascade into a shade as light as seafoam as he slowly regained focus and registered Drift’s presence. His engine would rumble in a purr as the two precious jewels he called optics would close again and, with a wry smile, he’d bury his face into the crook of Drift’s neck. He remembered it vividly. The crisp white of Ratchet’s plating turned amber in the light of the rising sun as it reflected the scene outside. The thrum of Ratchet’s engine continued to play on like the deep tone of Drift’s meditation gong, pulling the samurai into a trance. Warm ex-vents traced the lines of Drift’s neck cables as Ratchet fell deeper into recharge. Drift breathed in the scent of his conjunx beside him. He always tried to savor quiet moments like these. They never seemed to last.

 

“Sir?”

 

Drift jolts out of his thoughts when a caretaker bot approaches him from behind. They were a small bot -- much smaller than Tailgate --  with a dark brown and teal paint job. Someone had the bright idea to make those colors standard for all caretaker bots stating that they were easier on the optics. Ratchet had complained about it on a daily basis. He missed Ratchet complaining. The minicon had the decency to look bashful about startling the grieving mech and awkwardly cleared their throat. 

 

“I’m sorry about your loss sir,” their voice was barely above a whisper, “ he was a good mech.”

 

“Yes,” he sighed as a couple of movers finally began removing Ratchet’s emergency medical supplies, “ my conjunx had a kind soul and a beautiful aura.” Drift fought himself not to shudder when the movers removed Ratchet’s emergency medical cot. It wasn’t uncommon for Ratchet to find mechs on the street, too poor and weak to make it to the hospital, and bring them home. The medical community, despite all the efforts made during the course of and after the war, were not pleased with the idea of their chief medic taking mechs off of the street and treating them. He was endangering himself, they had said. “I found Drift,” was Ratchet’s reply, “ who knows how many more diamonds in the rough I can find.”

 

It was the cot that Ratchet died on. 

 

+++

 

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you sir,” the caretaker states over their shoulder as they lead Drift down one of the many pristine hallways of Iacon hospital. Their name was Flatscrew, they were one of the nurses in the intensive care divisions of the hospital. Or, that’s what they would normally be doing. Drift looked back down at the red and white band around the mech’s forearm, a marking that immediately distinguished them from every other nurse within the hospital. Only a select few were chosen to wear the band, Flatscrew must have worked very hard to get it.

 

“Did something happen with the paperwork?” Drift asks as Flatscrew leads him down yet another hallway. “I know the papers were signed and filed before Ratty-”, Drift barely had the strength to say it, “I know we finished all of the paperwork.” Flatscrew stopped abruptly and turned on their heel towards Drift. There was an odd expression on their faceplate, as if there was a bad taste in their intake. Finally, the minicon drew in a breath and looked into Drift’s optics.

 

“We want to know if you want to keep it.”

 

“What?” Drift was completely taken aback by the question. This was the last thing on his mind, and furthermore- 

 

“It’s not an it!” 

 

“We do not presume the gender before-”

 

“He, She, They, whatever you want to call them! Just don’t them ‘it’, they’re a person.”

 

“It’s a sparkling that’s about to be placed in the care of an individual who just lost their partner-”

 

“Conjunx! Ratchet is my-”

 

“We know who Ratchet was Drift,” Flatscrew stated as they held up a placating servo. Their tone was resilient against the wave of emotions spewing from Drift’s EM field and they tried their best to send  _ understanding _ and  _ calm _ towards the distressed mech. “And we know exactly who he was to you, which is why we’re asking you if you really want to go through with this. We’re looking out for your best interest and that of the sparkling. Being a single parent is difficult enough, but being a single parent after your conjunx just passed is even more challenging.” Flatscrew sighed and drew one of Drift’s servos into their own. Drift didn’t even realize he was trembling. “We understand that you and Ratchet wanted a child, but you need to know that this is going to be hard. Ratchet’s not here anymore, you don’t have to go through with this.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Drift’s voice wavered as he struggled to look the bot in the optics. “I need this. I need this so badly. If I can pour the love that I had for Ratchet into that sparkling, if I can let them know that they are wanted-”

 

“We understand,” Flatscrew cut in. Drift was grateful for the interruption, he wasn’t sure how much longer his voice would last. “You’d have to take the sparkling today,” Flatscrew tone became stern and serious. “We can’t wait any longer or else they aren’t going to bond to you.

 

“I understand.” Drift drew in one steadying breath. “I’m ready.”

 

“Are you?” Flatscrew asked one last time. They looked at Drift patiently and pushed  _ compassion  _ into their field. They wanted Drift to know that no one was forcing him to do this….and that no one would judge him if he didn’t. 

 

“I am.” Drift replied.

  
  


Deep down inside, he knew he’d truly never be.

 

+++

 

To be honest, both he and Ratchet didn’t think they were ready for this. Once they had become conjunx endura, adopting a sparkling from the batch from Luna 1 or the now active Vector Sigma was the last thing on their processors. Ratchet had said he was too old for younglings and had practically raised half of the Autobot army during the war, and Drift didn’t believe he would be a good mentor. They were completely content with each other’s company and had lived that way for the first two thousand years of their bond. It was two thousand and fifty years into their bond that they learned about the abandonment crisis. Windblade’s administration had released a shocking statistic to the press that more than thirty percent of all mechs and femmes who adopt sparklings either return them to the adoption center or abandon them on the street. The news ran like fire through Ratchet’s plating. Ratchet was furious that no one at the hospital had informed about the returned sparlings. Despite his terrible bedside manners with older patients, Ratchet was one of the best pediatric doctors and was well known for how gently he treated sparklings. He had noticed an influx of sparklings and younglings at the hospital but had never questioned why. Drift, on the other hand, was completely broken by the news. He remembered what it was like to be starving and homeless on the street. Drugs had become his escape from the pains of the reality of life. Every day he’d get high out of his processor only to come back to the same despair he was trying to escape. To think another person, a _ child _ , could be going through that shook Drift on a spark-deep level. That’s when Drift and Ratchet made their decision. They were going to adopt an abandoned sparkling.

 

+++

 

“Here they are,” Flatscrew said as they gestured towards a glass window. Drift peered inside and looked down into the incubator the small sparkling was lying in. They were recharging peacefully with a thumb in their intake and a pale green blanket tucked underneath their chin. All protoforms were a grayish white once their sparks were forged, but this one already had flecks of green and gold plating littered about their frame. Drift estimated the sparkling was at least a week old. About a week or so after forging, a sparkling began to develop color nanites and their outer plating hardened. After a month, they began transforming into their altmodes and have their first-- and typically final -- growth spurt. In a few rare cases, a sparkling may have a second or even third growth spurt during their youngling years, but most Cybertronians experienced a single spurt after their first transformation and adopted their adult forms. The processor developed much slower than the frame for most Cybertronians, so despite the fact that all month old Cybertronians had adult frames they were still only children mentally. A Cybertronian wasn’t considered an adult until their thousandth year, and even then they were still considered very young. Ratchet and a few of his medial colleagues had discussed with Windblade the underlying implications of having the legal age of adulthood so low; however, like many of his appeals to government, their opinion was ignored in favor of what the public deemed an appropriate age of consent. 

 

As Drift gazed on in wonder at the tiny frame dozing in the incubator, he couldn’t help but wonder what Ratchet would have said if he were there. He probably would check their vitals to ensure that the sparkling was healthy. He would have bothered the nurse to let him in “to get a closer look” when really he just wanted to hold the precious life as soon as possible. He would begin talking to the recharging protoform as if there was no one else in the room, telling them about the exciting life they were going to have with him and Drift. But most importantly, he would have begged the question….

 

“Why would anyone abandon such a beautiful child?” Drift asked vacantly as he watched the sparkling turn in their sleep. He didn’t expect an answer, so he was surprised when Flatscrew touched his shoulder. The nurse was looking away from the protoform, as if the sight of the child brought on an onslaught of emotions they weren’t prepared to face.

 

“I don’t know,” Flatscrew responded. Their voice was distant and cold as they finally turned their gaze towards the protoform. “This one was found in a dumpster behind a bar in the Decepticon District.”

 

“The ghettos?” Drift asked in disbelief. “The administration makes it nearly impossible for the ‘Cons who live in those ghettos to adopt. I can’t imagine a Decepticon jumping through all of the hoops of the adoption process just to abandon their child?” Flatscrew’s grip on Drift’s shoulder pauldron tightened and their faceplate grew dim.

 

“You’re right,” Flatscrew replied after some time, “ a ‘con wouldn’t abandon their kid like that...but an Autobot would.” Flatscrew reeled in their field as Drift’s lashed out in emotion. He couldn’t believe it! 

 

“An Autobot would do this?” Drift cried as his fists tightened against his sides. “An Autobot would abandon a helpless sparkling in such a deplorable manner? Ratchet and I are Autobots, and we have friends who are Autobots! There’s no way an Autobot would do this, it- it goes against everything we believe in!”

 

“It’s the truth,” Flatscrew continued unphased by his tirade,” not all Autobots are like you and Ratchet. It’s crazy really, most of the sparklings that are returned or abandoned are from Autobots. Neutrals only return sparklings if they feel like the financial strain is too large to properly care for a child, Decepticons usually live in groups so it’s not too stressful adding another addition to their family. Even if it were difficult, like you said before, they go through so much to get one of these bitlets they’d rather starve than hand them back to the administration. It’s the Autobots that abandon these kids. They leave them out on the street or bring them back here because it’s too stressful watching over a kid or too much work. They wanted to have an easy life after the war and kids bring too much drama. They all love the appeal of those bright, innocent faceplates but once they realize how much time and energy has to be devoted to them they give up.” Flatscrew released their hold of Drift’s shoulder pauldron, their servo became limp at their side. “You know….I was one of these kids,” Flatscrew’s voice was so fragile Drift thought it would break and shatter on the floor. “I was adopted by an Autobot conjunx endura couple, they kept me for three weeks until they decided I was too much work. They took me to an amusement park on our one month anniversary and bought me everything I wanted. I thought it was the happiest moment of my life until they drove back to the adoption center instead of our home. They told me I could keep all of the photos we took and that they hoped I’d find a family soon. Two years later a Decepticon trio came in saying that they wanted to adopt, but the facility turned them away saying that they weren’t fit to be parents. I figured no one wanted me anyway so I packed up all of my things and left the facility in search of the trio. Once I found them, I told them about how I was returned and they promised me a home and comfort. I’ve lived with them in the ghettos for the past three thousand years and I’ve never felt more loved.” Flatscrew turned to face Drift, their faceplate was stern yet their optics were full of static. “The only reason this little sparkling survived is because there was a homeless ‘con living in the dumpster they’d been dumped in. That ‘con cared for the sparkling until the authorities were called in and brought the bitlet back to us. I’m telling you all of this not for you to pity me or feel bad about your former comrades, I’m telling you this so that you understand that if you don’t think you can handle the pressure of caring for a child then don’t adopt them. Don’t throw them out like they’re trash or return them like a piece of broken merchandise. Don’t ruin their lives. Their just a child and they deserve to be loved. No one here will judge you if you walk out on this, but we will judge you if you harm that child in any way.” A heavy silence drifted between the two of them. Drift didn’t know what to say. All of this was news to samurai and he didn’t know how to comprehend it all. What he and Ratchet had seen on the tele-vid barely scratched the surface of what was going on on Cybertron. 

 

“I understand,” Drift finally replied. He looked Flatscrew straight in their optics and did his best to convey how serious he was through his EM field. “I want to care for this child and love them the way that I always wanted to be loved as a youngling. I was homeless and destitute before the war, before Ratchet rescued me from the slums. I want to give that child the life I was denied and raise them in love just as Ratty and I had intended. I have no intention of returning this child, they are not an object to be traded amongst people, I will care for them to the best of my abilities and with every fiber of my being. I will ensure that this child is loved.”

 

+++

 

Drift rocked back and forth in the soft rocking chair of his new apartment and looked down at the bitlet that lied in his arms. The sparkling was wide awake and staring at him with gorgeous teal optics and a tiny hand that was gingerly reaching out for his faceplate. “Hello little one,” he cooed as he lowered his face towards the curious servo. The sparkling squealed in delight as their digits brushed Drift’s warm cheek plates. “Ratty would have loved you,” Drift sighed as he brushed tip of his nose against the sparkling’s developing nasal ridge. More squeals ensued as the sparkling grabbed the pointed nose and attempted to bite it. “Ratty would have adored the way you laugh,” Drift continued as he stared in awe at the sparkling, “ you are a literal bundle of joy.” Drift shifted the sparkling in his arms and moved to stand. He exited the spacious living room he had been seated in and entered the small bedroom he had set up for the sparkling. The room was littered with toys and trinkets, all of which were gifted to him by the surviving members of the Lost Light crew. “This one over here,” Drift explained as he picked up a musical carousel from a lavender colored nightstand, “this is a gift from your Uncle Whirl. He used to make clocks and he made this especially for you. See,” Drift flicked a small switch on the side of the carousel. The ride came to life as miniature replicas of the Lost Light crew moved about the carousel. Small lights flashed blue and pink lights as the music box played an upbeat version of an Earth hymn called “Silent Night”. “Uncle Whirl made tiny sculptures of all of our friends. Your Uncle Roddy is eating energon ice cream with Uncle Minimus. Over there on the pony is Uncle Tailgate with his conjunx Cyclonus, Uncle Whirl is the one standing by the kibbles machine. Do you see the little pond with the cyber-fish? Standing by the pond are all your uncles and aunties who aren’t here anymore, but are still watching over you in the All-spark. Uncle Brainstorm is catching fish with Uncle Rewind and Chromedome, Uncle Megatron is reading a book under a tree with Auntie Velocity. Oh, and over here is-” Drift paused when saw the small figurines. On a bench, observing the entire scene with a tiny bundle in their servos, was Ratchet and Drift. The figurines were leaning into one another’s frame and looking down into the bundle with big smiles on their faces. “This one,” Drift continued when he regained control of his vocalizer,” is...was your sire Ratchet. He was the best doctor Cybertron has ever known. He saved your sire’s life when he was very young, you wouldn’t have your sire today if it weren’t for Ratchet. He would have loved you very much if he were still here, just like you aunties and uncles he’s watching over you in the All-Spark. We all love you very much, never forget how loved you are.” Drift looked away from the tiny figurines and back to the sparkling in his arms. He was surprised to see the little one was fast asleep in his arms, but then again, sparklings needed more sleep since their processors were still developing. Drift walked over to the pale green crib he and Ratchet had made together before his untimely death. He swaddled the recharging sparkling in the soft blankets Anode and Lug had gifted to him and placed a turbofox plushie next to the bitlet. “Sweet dreams,” Drift whispered as he placed a small kiss on the sparkling’s forehelm, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ut lumen, quod duces nobis continue ardere clara. Nunc et in aeternum. Amen.

May the light that guides us continually burn bright. Now and forevermore. Amen.


	2. The Prayer of Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some reunions begin with goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. School has been a BEAST!!!! My free time is constrained by my responsibilities, but I had to get something out for this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one will be full of drama and tears.

**_Orationem Mirum_ **

**_Quid tam secretum meum Dominus?_ **

**_Quid sunt vestri mores quoque mirabile enim mea mens?_ **

**_Utinam comprehendere eos._ **

**_Nam et quondam, et sentire pacem._ **

 

Translation: 

The Prayer of Wonder

Why are you so secret my Lord?

Why are your ways too marvelous for my mind?

I wish to comprehend them.

For once I will feel peace.

  
  


+++

Drift woke up to the combined noise of his new sparkling crying and the apartment phone ringing. The cacophony of noise reverberated through his helm and he mumbled a curse under his breath as he wiped the sleep from his optics and rose to attend to his child. _ His child _ . The words seemed so unreal no matter how many times he had reminded himself that he was a sire. Never in a million years did he think he would become a sire, but wriggling before him in a pale green crib was his now three week old sparkling. “Don’t fret little one,” he cooed at the unhappy bitlet, “sire will take care of it.” He hushed the child as he made his way into the kitchen, searching for the cases of specially filtered energon he had ordered. He set the sparkling down in a high chair gifted to him by Tailgate and Cyclonus, and scanned the cabinets for the box of energon. Somewhere between the garbage disposal and some unused pots and pans, Drift finally found the brown crate and dumped its contents onto the countertop.  _ “Specially Filtered Energon: Courtesy of Swerve’s” _ the label read: 

 

_ Place the bottle on your stovetop and watch as the bottle magically changes color. Blue means cold, Purple means warm, Red means it’s too hot. Take the bottle off of the stove when it turns purple and feed it to your sparkling. Do not feed a sparkling with a Red hot bottle. _

 

Drift placed the bottle on the stove and walked into the living room in search of his still ringing house phone. “Good vorn,” Drift yawned without bothering to check the caller-id, “how can I help you?”

 

“Drift,” a stiff voice replied, “this is Prowl. I need you to come to the Spire immediately.”

 

“I’m sorry Prowl, but I just adopted a sparkling and I need to spend some time alone with the bitlet so we can bond. What is it that you needed?”

 

“This isn’t a request,” Drift could hear the bridled fury lurking within Prowl’s tone, “this is an order. You _ will  _ come to the Spire  _ immediately _ or I  _ will _ send enforcers to drag you down here.” Drift took in a deep soothing vent. He really wasn’t in the mood for this sort of drama today. He had just adopted his bitlet two weeks ago and he needed to spend time with his little one. Ratchet would have taken a month off from the hospital if he were still here. He would have turned off his phone and only carried his emergency pager with him as he fawned over his newspark. Drift had to make Ratchet proud, he would be the sire Ratchet never had the chance to be.

 

“I’m sorry Prowl. As I stated previously, I just adop-”

 

“We know what you did,” Prowl nearly growled over the comm-line. “We know what  _ all  _ of you did, and if you think for a second that you’re going to get away with this you need to think again. You’re coming to the Spire whether you like it or not.”

 

“Prowl, I don’t know what you’re tal-”

 

“The _ copy _ Drift,” Prowl’s tone was icy, “You all made  _ copies _ of yourselves….of  _ him _ .”

 

“I-” Drift nearly lost his footing as the words began to register within his processor. He blindly reached for a chair to sit on, eventually collapsing on the sofa in front of the televid. “We- it actually worked?” Drift tried to quell the excitement that was slowly bubbling within his chassis. It had actually worked. He had always hoped that somewhere, in some reality it had worked but he never thought he’d live to hear that it had. “It actually worked….”

 

“Yes Drift,” Prowl hissed the designation. “It did work, and you better come to the Spire. I don’t think Ratchet would like to see you in handcuffs.”

 

“What!?”

  
  
  
  


The bottle in the kitchen burst in flames.

 

+++

“You need to chill out Drift,” Rodimus sighed as he pinched his nasal ridge. Drift clutched his sparkling to his chestplates as he paced back and forth in the waiting room. Some of the surviving members of the Lost Light had yet to arrive at the Spire. Tailgate,Cyclonus, and Whirl sat in a corner of the room flanked by all of their children. They had adopted six children in total, but only five were present with them. Their youngest, Skybird, had passed over 12 solar cycles ago, but regardless of how many times they were asked they always said they had six children. Skybird didn’t deserve to be forgotten. The Scavengers, Swerve, and Nautica were lounging about in the middle of the room playing the Cybertronian version of a human game called “Cards Against Humanity”. Drift pressed his sparkling’s audials closer to his chest, he didn’t want them hearing the vulgar terms spilling loosely from his friends intakes. ‘The bitlet would have heard a lot worse coming from me’, Drift imagined Ratchet saying, ‘especially if they goofed off in my med-bay’. Perhaps, Drift’s vents hitched as a thought began to swell within his spark, that’s what Ratchet  _ will  _ say. Drift looked at the door that locked him into the waiting room. Somewhere, on the other side of that door, was an alternate version of Ratchet waiting to see him.

 

“Drift seriously,” Rodimus shifted from where he was seated, his spoiler twitching in agitation. “You need to calm down. I know you’re excited about seeing Ratchet again but-”

 

“But what Roddy!” Drift came to a halt in front of his friend. The sparkling whined at the brisque movement and Drift quickly hushed the little one. “Ratty’s in that room waiting for me. Ratty! _My Ratty_! We can be a _family_ again. He can meet his sparkling. My sparkling can have another sire!” Drift held the green and gold bitlet high in the air, eliciting a laugh from the newspark. Drift peppered his child’s helm with kisses causing the sparkling to laugh even more. Rodimus granted his friend a tired smile and stood to place his servo on the samurai’s shoulder.

 

“I get it,” Rodimus began,” it’s been less than two months since Ratchet passed and you’re about to get him back. You’re ecstatic. The problem is that you won’t be getting him back Drift. The version of Ratchet you’re about to see isn’t your Ratchet. Furthermore, we don’t know what the universe will decide. It’s like what had happened to Rewind and the crew during our first voyage. We all began disappearing because the universe preferred the dead version of us, what’s to say the universe won’t prefer the dead version of Ratchet or the alternate version of you? I know it hurts to hear this Drift, but you have to hear this.” Drift vented deeply as his friend’s words sank in. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility of him or Ratchet disappearing. What would happen to his sparkling? He had just started bonding with the little one and the thought of parting with them nearly broke Drift’s spark. He couldn’t imagine not seeing his little one’s chubby gold faceplate in the morning, or listening to the bright and cheery laugh, or watching as they smashed energon pudding all over their face. A soft tap on his shoulder shook Drift from his thoughts. He looked to his left and saw Cyclonus holding his youngest living child in his arms. Cyclonus had aged since their time aboard the Lost Light. The mech was near eleven million years old now and the derma beneath his optics had just begun to sag. Or perhaps that was from having to care for a newspark six times. 

 

“Forgive me,” Cyclonus stated in a cordial manner, “but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Rodimus. I want you to know that you’re not alone in this and that you shouldn’t worry about your newspark. Tailgate, Whirl, and I trust one another with our sparks, and we know that if we all were to disappear our copies would take good care of our children. Ratchet was,is, and will always be a good mech. If you were to disappear this instant, Ratchet would devote his life to caring for the newspark you two were supposed to have. Be strong Drift. Primus works in mysterious ways.”

 

+++

He didn’t expect it to be this hard. The surviving members of the Lost Light were ushered into a room and quickly debriefed by Prowl and Ironhide. They would be brought into a large auditorium where their copies were currently waiting for them. Prowl, Ironhide, and a few choice guards would wait on the sidelines to see who would disappear. As Drift looked around the room at his friends, it finally struck him that this may be the last time he would see any of them. Whirl, Tailgate, and Cyclonus comforted their now frightened children and whispered sweet reassurances to them. Rodimus and Thunderclash sat towards the far end of the room and were having a deep discussion between themselves. Very few people besides Drift knew of how Rodimus and Thunderclash’s relationship had evolved after their adventures ended, and he couldn’t help but wonder if their copies had also fallen in love as well. The thought that one of them would be stuck with a version of themselves that didn’t love them back made Drift’s spark ache. For a moment, the pair held each other’s hand and shared a chaste kiss. Then Rodimus arose and planted himself next to where Drift was seated. Minimus, Anode, and Lug were seated next to the Scavengers and were discussing their progress with the younglings from Lunar 1. Red Alert and Perceptor were engaged in some sort of debate while Fort Max and Nautica listened in obviously amused. This was Drift’s family, or at least what was left of it. Every single person sitting in this room meant something to him. They had been an important part of his life and he had hoped they would be a part of his sparkling’s life. He had hoped  _ he’d _ be a part of his sparkling’s life. Drift looked down at the recharging form that lied in his arms. Their color nanites had completely come in so they were a beautiful rich green with gorgeous gold accent. Real gold, not just the metallic color. Adorning the crest of their helm was a small golden chevron, Ratchet would be proud. Drift smiled at the sleeping child and planted a kiss on his sparkling’s forehelm. “No matter what,” Drift whispered to his bitlet, “I’ll always love you and I’ll always be here for you. If I disappear today I want you to know that you were wanted and that I’ll be rooting for you with Primus in the Allspark. Till All Are One...again.”

 

+++

“This is it mechs,” Prowl called out stiffly. Ironhide stood next to him looking just as rigid as Prowl sounded. It was apparent that neither one of them were pleased with their recent discovery, Drift tried not to think of what kind of trouble they’d all be in once this debacle was over.” We’ll be observing from the sidelines to assist if and when any of you begin disappearing. Your copies have been informed of the situation at hand but they don’t know anything about your actual lives on Cybertron. It would be a good idea for you all to inform your copies of what they missed in their  _ actual  _ dimension-” Prowl punctuated the word with a large heaping of venom-” in the event that one of you disappears. Are you ready?” Prowl didn’t wait for an answer as the doors dividing both copies were removed and the remaining Lost Light crew members were faced with--for the first time in years--the perfect image of their family. Their whole family. Everyone was there and smiling and….happy.

  
  
  
  


All of them were happy. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Can I have your attention please?”

 

Rodimus stood in the center of the room beside...Rodimus. It was a testament to how hard life had been on Cybertron when Drift easily recognized his Rodimus from the copy they had made. His Rodimus was tried and worn, the derma beneath his optics were dark and his brow was knit in a permanent crease. It had been vorns since he had his paint touched up, so the bright orange and reds of his plating were a dull and sickly color. In stark contrast stood his copy, a young, bright, and energetic version of the Rodimus they all knew and loved. His armor was glossy and his paint was fresh, possibly done that cycle. The bright cerulean blue of his optics had not been dulled by the realities of life, and his spoiler stood high and proud on his back.

  
  


“I understand your concerns,” Drift’s Rodimus stated as he gesticulated to the mechs before him.

 

“I understand that you have fears concerning what will happen to you and the families that you’ve forged,” Rodimus’ copy continued as if the mechs shared the same processor. In a way, they did.

 

“But I think everyone here is forgetting what day it is.” Both Rodimus’ looked at each other with a hint of mischief in their optics. For a moment, Drift thought Rodimus looked like his old self. A light that had died within Rodimus was reignited in this moment. Drift could sense it in his aura.  _ Adventure _ , his aura read. Rodimus had found his sense of adventure again.  

 

“On this day,” the copy began.

 

“14 million years ago-”

 

“The first Cybertronian realized that they could change shape-”

 

“Eight million years ago, Nova Prime built an ARK-”

 

“Six million years ago, Optimus Prime turned down Megatron’s last and only offer to surrender-”

 

“And two million years ago-” Drift’s Rodimus said as he faced the copies.

 

“We set off on an adventure,” his copy continued, “ to find hope-”

 

“To fulfill our dreams-”

 

“To unveil a mystery-”

 

“To find a family,” Rodimus turned his attention to Drift. The aura around his longtime friend slowly began to shift from an adventurous sky blue to a deep amber. Amber….the color of goodbye?

 

“On this day,” Rodimus’ copy continued with a bright and cheery smile,” we are reunited with our family...with ourselves. This is not a day of sorrow, but a day of great joy because we achieved something two million years ago. Who knows what we’ll do next.”

 

“Till all are one….again!” Both Rodimus’ cried out in unisom and shook one another’s servo. Slowly, Drift’s Rodimus began to fade away from existence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He smiled as he died.

 

 

 

 

Ut lumen, quod duces nobis continue ardere clara. Nunc et in aeternum. Amen.

May the light that guides us continually burn bright. Now and forevermore. Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the beginning of sadness.
> 
> Also I forgot to mention that the song I associate with this fic is To Build A Home by Cinematic Orchestra.


	3. On Hiatus

Hey Guys,

  I'm so sorry for the long wait between chapters, but I'm working on a lot of projects in my real life right now and I don't have time to continue my current fics. I AM NOT CANCELLING THE FIC!!!!!! I just need to finish some things in my personal/work life before I can continue. I WILL continue this in the future (I already have some chapters written out). I truly appreciate your patience and am so grateful for any and all comments you may have posted on this or my other works. It means so much to me and motivates me to keep on writing. Till All Are One...Again

 

-GrumpyBox


	4. The Prayer for Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain, Sadness, Anguish, and the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'm trying to break the hiatus as best as I can but I honestly can't say how soon after this I'll post. I hope the wait wasn't too long.

**_Oratio pro Tribulatione_ **

**_Salvum me fac Domine, quoniam ego in timore pessimum._ **

**_Mundus est meum super humeros._ **

**_Spiritum meum est brevis._ **

**_Mea ignis est, adhuc in pectore._ **

**_Sentio sicut claudit._ **

 

Translation:

The Prayer for Trouble

Save me my Lord, for I fear the worst.

The world is upon my shoulders.

My breath is short.

My spark is still within my chest.

I feel it as it dims.

 

 

 

 

Drift wasn’t prepared for this. Everything was happening too fast and he didn’t feel ready. He would never feel ready. He wanted to see Ratchet, to hear his voice, to hold him in his arms, but he couldn’t. The child he carried was a weight he bore not just in his arms, but in his processor as well. No matter how many algorithms he ran, Drift couldn’t come up with a reason to approach Ratchet that wouldn’t possibly endanger his child as well. He was a sire now, he had to be there for his sparkling. Too many people had abandoned this child already, and Drift had made a promise to Flatscrew...to himself. Drift surveyed the room and realized he wasn’t alone in his thinking. Everyone, including Rodimus’ copy, were rigid after Rodimus disappeared. No one was ready to go.

  


Perceptor was the first one to bolt out of line and leap into the arms of his lost conjunx, breaking the silence the room had fallen into.

 

“Woah there Percy?” Brainstorm teased. Drift almost forgot how cheeky Brainstorm’s voice was. The scientist looked nothing like his copy had before he passed. This Brainstorm still had a glimmer in his optics and a youthful glow, Perceptor’s alternate stood back as he watched his copy reunite with his love. A torn look marred the microscope’s faceplate, as if he was not expecting the scene before him. It was true, his copy did not meet the same pleasant fate as the youthful scientist before him. After the members of the Lost Light split, Perceptor and Brainstorm’s short lived romance -- or simpatico as they liked to call it-- ended as well. They never admitted it out loud-- and certainly not to each other-- but the love they had once had for each other was gone and the distance between them didn’t help. In a last ditch attempt to save  what was left of their relationship, Brainstorm tried to develop a new security sensor that was undetected by the naked optic and could temporarily halt a mech’s spark. The sensor glitched midway through the development and the blast struck Brainstorm’s spark and nearly killed him. Even though Whirl had created a portable life support system for the mech, Brainstorm’s passion and drive had perished well before he was gone. He became weak and dull, a true shell of his former vibrant self. Perceptor had never forgiven himself for leaving Brainstorm alone for so long. Even after he caught news of what had happened to Brainstorm, it wasn’t until the funeral that Perceptor was able to see his former lab partner again.

 

“Save some for the laboratory.” Drift’s Perceptor released his hold of the quirky scientist and stood back to examine his copy and Brainstorm.

 

“I’m sorry,” Perceptor’s voice was laced in static. Brainstorm and his Perceptor moved to comfort the mech but stopped when they saw him begin to fade.

 

“P-percy?” Brainstorm’s optics flew wide in shock and fear as he turned towards his Perceptor. “I-I didn’t think the fading would happen so quickly?”

 

“It’s not supposed to,” Drift’s Perceptor replied as his legs slowly began to fade from existence, “not unless an extreme change occurs within the subject. I-I’ve missed you so much since you passed Brainstorm,”Perceptor sobbed as he cupped Brainstorm’s faceplates in his fading servos. “I’ve been so alone Stormy. T-to see a version of you and me together a-and content….I don’t think my spark has ever been this light. Just hearing the sound of your voice, I’m overwhelmed with joy. We’re simpatico Stormy, I’m so glad a version of us was allowed to stay that way.”

 

The room was still and quiet as Perceptor faded from existence, the only sound was the quaking of Brainstorm’s vents as he tried to process what had happened. “P-pPercy?”

 

“I’m still here!” Perceptor called out from behind Brainstorm. The scientist whipped his helm around and immediately grasped for his Perceptor. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. It’s ok.”

 

“I just- I didn’t expect it to be so….”

 

“I know,” Perceptor said as he held Brainstorm in a warm embrace, “I know...”

  


All of the occupants in the room looked amongst themselves to see who would be brave enough to go through...that again. Drift looked off towards the corner of the room where Prowl and Ironhide were stood. For two people who had just witnessed versions of their friends fade from existence, they seemed remarkably calm. Prowl, though his distaste for the situation was evident on his faceplate, did not seem traumatized by the horrifying disappearance of his long time allies. It was as if he had been prepared for them to die anyway. Ironhide was fidgety and anxious, but it didn’t seem as if it was the disappearing that was troubling him. There was something else crawling underneath the weapons specialist’s plating. Something the rest of the room’s occupants didn’t know about.

 

“Oh my Primus!” Swerve’s copy yelled from across the room, breaking Drift’s train of thought. “Tailgate has a kid….lots of kids!” Swerve, Rewind, and Chromedome, in an act of reckless bravery, crossed the gap between the two Lost Light’s in an effort to get a better look at the children. Slowly, the gap grew smaller and smaller as more mechs got their bearing and began the process of approaching their copies.

 

“How old are they? What are your names? What are your alt-modes?” Rewind asked as he turned on his camera. The children, who were still shell-shocked after seeing two versions of their friends vanish, shied away from the camera.

 

“It’s ok guys,” Whirl said as he moved a youngling from their hiding place behind him. “This is Rewind and his conjunx Chromedome, we told you stories about them remember.” Chromedome, who had been oohing and aahing at the sparkling Cyclonus held, immediately bolted upright at the declaration.

 

“Stories? Y-you, you didn’t let us meet them?” Chromedome pointed an accusative digit at Cyclonus. “I know you and I have had our differences in the past but-”

 

“It’s not that really,” Cyclonus interjected, “it’s….you both….you both died.”

 

A dawning realization overtook Chromedome’s faceplate. “Oh….wh-who died first?” Cyclonus was hesitant to answer, he instead nodded his helm towards Rewind. He knew that Chromedome would understand. It was no secret how dependent Chromedome was on Rewind to maintain the stability of their relationship. After Rewind - the first one- had died, Chromedome became more protective and defensive of his mate. The thought of losing a loved one would send anyone over the edge, but for Chromedome it was much worse than that. He had already witnessed the love of his life being torn apart by a madmech, so after Delta’s Malady took its final toll on Rewind, Chromedome lost his sanity. His years as a grief therapist could not prepare him for the pain he felt and his mind slowly deteriorated before finally taking his life.

 

“I see. Thank you for telling them stories about us, perhaps we’ll be able to tell them our own stories now.”

 

“Perhaps, but I’m afraid I won’t be around to hear them,” Cyclonus lifted a servo towards Chromedome. His digits had already faded away leaving just the palm and wrist. Tripherion, Cyclonus and Tailgate’s oldest, rushed to his sire’s side.

 

“Whirl!” Tripherion cried out, “Sire is fading!”

 

“Carrier is too,” Dust-Devil, Tailgate’s middle child, wept as he held onto his fading carrier. “What should we do?”

 

“Tri, Dusty, it’s going to be alright,” Whirl said as he took the sparkling from Cyclonus’ disappearing servos. “I’m still here, and Sire and Carrier’s copies are good people. They’ll love you and take care of you and your siblings.”

 

“Remember what we taught you ok?” Tailgate sobbed as he hugged his children for the last time. “Remember how much we love you ok? Take care of one another, we’ll see each other again someday.” Tailgate relinquished his hold on his children and quickly ran over to his copy who - for the duration of the exchange- had been trembling and sobbing next to a petrified Cyclonus. Their version of Whirl had already faded away.

 

“I- I don’t think we can,” Tailgate’s copy began.

 

“We didn’t think we could either,” Tailgate replied as he took his copy’s servos into his own. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

 

“B-but what if we aren’t-”

 

“You’ll do great,” Tailgate replied as he pulled his shaking copy into a hug. “Just promise me you’ll love them. Just promise me you’ll love them.”

 

“I-I will,” Tailgate whispered as the arms around his frame began to fade out of existence. “I promise.”

  
  


 

 

 

“PRIMUS WHY!!!!!”

  
  


 

 

 

A shout came from across the room. Nautica was hunched in on herself as Anode and Lug consoled her. “She was right here! I had her right here a-and,” her voice dissolved into staticky wet sobs. Lug rubbed on Nautica’s backstruct as Anode knelt beside her longtime friend.

 

“I know,” Anode sighed as she tried to wipe the oily tears from Nautica’s cheek, “it’s not fair.”

 

“Nautica?” Brainstorm and Perceptor rushed from their corner of the room towards the purple femme. “Nautica? What’s the matter? Where’s-”

 

“She’s gone,” Nautica gasped, “I thought that since her copy was alive then maybe she’d stay this time….maybe I could get her back.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Perceptor said as he helped Nautica to her pedes, “I’m not following. Who’s gone?”

 

“Lotty,” the femme barely had the strength to say her name, “she’s gone. She...was protesting against the Exclusionist Act. It was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration, but some neo-Functionalist lunatic opened fire and….and-”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Brainstorm whispered as he pulled his friend into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been so alone.”

 

“At least,” Nautica rasped as she fought to control her overtaxed vocalizer,” I get to have you again.”

  


The reunion continued on like this quite so time. Joy, Sadness, Fear, Regret swirled around in the EM fields and auras of all bots present in the room. Conjunxes were split, families were broken and put back together like puzzle pieces, and secrets well hidden were revealed. The look on Prowl’s face when Minimus was reunited with Megatron and embraced his lost lover in a deep and passionate kiss was almost worth the pain this meeting had wrought upon the Lost Light crew. So far, the only people lost from the Lost Light family were Velocity, Nickel, Roller, and Fort Max. The only people left to introduce themselves to each other were Drift, his copy, and Ratchet. During the entire exchange Drift had been hidden towards the back of the room, too afraid of what would happen once he saw Ratchet again. _What if he hopes I disappear? What if he doesn’t like our child? What if he doesn’t want our child?_ Grim thoughts continued to swirl around in Drift’s processor until suddenly they were broken. A heavy yet familiar servo clapped down on Drift’s shoulder. Drift subconsciously gripped his child to his chest and looked up into crimson optics. “You’ve taught me many things in my life,” Megatron’s deep voice washed over Drift like a tidal wave. The voice of his once leader turned friend had been lost to the sands of time. Megatron’s overwhelming appearance was not intimidating, but comforting. He smiled warmly at the former assassin. “One of the things you taught me was to never fear that which we do not know. I didn’t know what would become of me when I joined your crew. You and Rodimus gave me the chance the start over, to be the mech I had dreamt of being and spoke of in my polemics. Don’t fear the path that is set before you, but embrace it as you know not where it leads.”

 

“Tritus Minor,”Drift smirked,“I almost forgot how much you loved poetry.” With those words of encouragement Drift clutched his sparkling to his chestplate before marching over to the impending form of his lost love.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Ut lumen, quod duces nobis continue ardere clara. Nunc et in aeternum. Amen.

May the light that guides us continually burn bright. Now and forevermore. Amen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter was sad. I cried writing this way too many times. You'd think that if I was in pain I wouldn't write it but no, I'm that evil.


	5. The Prayer of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift is confused, dies, and lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. The last chapter was super emotional so I decided to wreck your hearts even more in this chapter.

**_Oratio de Timor_ **

**_O Domine, Quid est hoc?_ **

**_Quid est hoc, quod repit in me?_ **

**_Ponderare in mea scintillae quasi turbidique nigredo de nocte._ **

**_Libera me a tenebris somnia._ **

**_Libera me de hoc quod est alius nondum venit._ **

 

Translation: 

A Prayer of Fear 

Oh Lord, What is this? 

What is this thing that crawls within me? 

It weighs on my spark like the inky blackness of night. 

Free me from my dark dreams. 

Free me from what is yet to come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drift knew that they were only pedesteps away, but in his processor it felt like he had traversed miles. It was surreal, the fact that the love of his life was mere pedesteps away yet still out of reach. It had taken so long to readjust to a life without Ratchet, but he never really adjusted now had he. Every morning for the past two months Drift woke up and put dark amber energon on the burner because he knew that Ratchet liked a cube of “the strong stuff” before going to the hospital, and every night Drift would dump it down the drain because Ratchet was no longer home. Every day, five joors to his shift’s end at the Shrine to Primus, Drift would wait patiently at the hospital’s front entrance for Ratchet to arrive so they could share some energon snacks during their lunch break. It would take five, sometimes 10, once even 30 clicks before Drift would remember that Ratchet wasn’t coming. He would never come. Drift would cry himself to sleep each night and wake each morning wondering why his berthroom no longer glistened shades of red and why his berth felt so cold. Today, for the first time in two months, everything could go back to the way it had been.

 

With renewed vigor, Drift quickened his steps and found himself closer and closer to the faceplate that for the past two months he had mourned losing. There was Ratchet, his optics were still fresh from adventure, his faceplate was devoid of most of the wrinkles and creases Drift had grown accustomed to seeing, and his field was....different. His field was not the beautiful shades of turquoise and blue Drift was so used to seeing, it was yellow with dark green edges. _Fear._ Ratchet was afraid. What could he possibly be afraid of? Drift slowed his steps as he realized that another field was intermingling with Ratchet’s. The field was a pearly white with a silver lining. Clarity and Peace. Drift had been so focused on seeing Ratchet that he had completely forgotten that his cloned self was also present with his conjunx. _No._ His conjunx’s _clone_. The sparkling stirred and whined restlessly as Drift felt the joy in his field dissolve into pure anguish. How could he do this? How could he try to separate his and Ratchet’s clone from one another? It was foolish of him to believe that he could ever get his Ratchet back, his Ratchet died two months ago. This Ratchet didn’t belong to him. The child began to whine louder and Drift was once again reminded of his promise to Flatscrew. It was his duty to take care of the newspark. He had promised to give the child the life it deserved. Had his and Ratchet’s clone even considered sparklings? Did they want the child? Would they return the newspark if he disappeared? The thought alone sent a chill down Drift’s spine. Of course they wouldn’t. They would never do such a horrific thing. But most of the newsparks that were returned to the hospital came from Autobot homes? The ambiguity of the situation weighed down on Drift’s processor like an anvil, causing his field to fluctuate and bend sporadically as he struggled to make sense of what was unfolding before him. Suddenly, the world felt light around him. Everything and everyone began to dissolve into thin air. He looked down at the sparkling that wobbled precariously in his fading servos. He didn’t want to let go of his child. He didn’t want to break his promise to Flatscrew. He didn’t want the teal optics that looked up at him in wonder to be lost abandoned back at the facility. For a moment, everything was blank. Drift felt as his soul transcended his frame and was light and effortless. He forgot everything. His life, his fears, his doubts. The world around him was a peaceful blank canvas. Somewhere in the void, a voice called out to him, it spoke soothing words and encouragement to him. The voice, he realized after sometime, was his own. A reflection appeared before him, a mirror image of himself. It smiled at him and in a voice as loud as a whisper said:

  
  


“Till All Are One Again.”

  
  
  


Drift’s knees buckled as he was slammed back into reality and he struggled to keep the fragile sparkling from receiving any of the impact gravity forced onto his frame.

 

 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Ratchet whispered. “This isn’t what I wanted at all.

 

+++

 

“What in the name of Cybertron are you doing?” Ratchet called out to his conjunx as he strolled into the Lost Light’s shrine. Less than two hundred years after the Lost Light had cloned itself into an alternate dimension, Drift had somehow managed to convert at least two dozen mechs to Colorism. According to one of Ultra Magnus’ many rulebooks, as a religious body the Colorists of the Lost Light were entitled to a room to dedicate as a shrine to Primus. Drift, as the ship appointed Oracle of Primus, held orations and meditation sessions every cycle. Drift even held an extremely popular yoga session although Ratchet believed that most attendees were more interested in seeing all the ways Drift could bend over rather than becoming one with Primus. On special holidays, Drift would burn incense on the altar and send out prayers to the primes for joy and prosperity. When the crew came across hard times, Drift would fast and meditate as he sought out the wisdom of Primus. Today however, was neither a holiday nor a time of mourning so Ratchet was perplexed to find his conjunx burning incense and servo written prayers on the altar. “Did somebody die and I didn’t hear about it? Did Magnus place you on disposal duty again? Did Swerve close down the bar and horde all of the high grade for himself?” Drift chuckled at the thought of Swerve barricading himself in the bar, armed with only his talking training gun.

 

“No Ratty,” Drift sighed as his optics became downcast. “We are coming to the end.”

 

“The end?” Ratchet could do nothing but quirk an optic ridge at that. “The end of what?”

 

“The end of us. _All_ of us. The Lost Light as we know it.” Drift turned to Ratchet and reached out for the servo of his conjunx, guiding Ratchet to sit beside him at the altar. “I had a vision Ratty, you know how I feel about my visions, “Drift began. “Everything was scattered and foggy, but one thing was clear. We are going to lose something _precious_.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Ratchet tried to keep the incredulity and snark out of his voice but it was a difficult task. He and Drift often bickered about his visions. Ratchet always tried to convince Drift that they were merely dreams, but the samurai saw things differently, and sometimes, to Ratchet’s dismay, his visions actually came true. “What do you mean we’re going to ‘lose something precious’, what do you mean we’ve reached the end?”

 

“We’ve reached the end of our time together as a family,”Drift replied as he stood up and began to pace the shrine. “This home, this peace we’ve built, it’s going to come to an end. We thought we could prevent it by cloning ourselves but we were wrong. We’re going to lose what we’ve created with the rest of the crew, we’re going to lose us.”

 

“Drift,” Ratchet began in his most gentle tone of voice, “this is just another dream. Remember when you said you had a vision that Rodimus and Thunderclash would become lost to us and we would never find them again?”

 

“Y-yes,” Drift blushed at the reminder. It was not one of his best visions.

 

“You said that they were going to get lost after our next planetary visit and then they would die, isn’t that right?”

 

“Yes Ratty,” Drift sighed as he already knew where this was going.

 

“And remember how the next day we couldn’t find them and the whole crew searched for them for hours?”

 

“Yes Ratchet, I remember. We don’t need to continue this.”

 

“And remember,” Ratchet continued undeterred, “ how Anode and Whirl found them fragging like there was no tomorrow in the lower levels?”

 

“Ok, I get it Ratchet!” Drift cried as his faceplate flushed a vibrant red. “That vision didn’t come true, but this one is different. This one was so real I can still feel it lingering underneath my plating.”

 

“Drift,” Ratchet sighed as he cupped his conjunx’s faceplate in his servos. “I promise you, there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. This is not a vision, it’s just a dream. Trust me.”

 

“I truly hope so Ratchet,” Drift finally relented. “I truly hope so.”

  
  


Everything was fine for a long time after that. Actually, Drift and Ratchet both forgot about the vision….until it came back.

 

“And what exactly is burning organic paper going to do about your dreams Drift?” Ratchet sighed as he watched his conjunx burn incense at the altar.

  
  


“You don’t get it Ratchet,”Drift did his best to keep his irritation out of his voice and field. “This is the third time I’ve had the vision this cycle. Each time I have the vision, it gets stronger and clearer. I’m not burning paper for the fun of it. I’m _begging_ Primus to change his mind.”

 

“One billion people tried to do the very same thing before they died in the war,” Ratchet snorted, “Primus is a little more stubborn than you think.” 

 

“Do you think this is funny?” Drift growled as he unleashed the anger boiling in his field.

 

“What imaginary event are you trying to prevent anyway?” Ratchet quipped, disregarding his conjunx’s annoyance.

 

“It doesn’t matter Ratchet,” Drift murmured as he returned his attention to the altar before him,”it’s not like telling you will change the future anyway.”

  
  


A thousand years passed peacefully. And then another thousand. And then a million. Time moved faster in this new dimension, and they seemed to age slower. Brainstorm hypothesized that it was some foreign chemical in the air that slowed their aging, Perceptor believed it was because they originated from a different timeline, Rodimus said it was because everyone was happy. Drift continued to burn incense and prayers on the altar, the scent became a familiar one aboard the Lost Light. As the years passed, Ratchet became more concerned about his partner’s mental health. Ultra Magnus swore up and down that there had been a psychiatrist on-board at the start of their journey, perhaps he had died in the sparkeater incident. Every time Ratchet tried to lure Drift away from the altar, he became irate.

 

“Drift,” Ratchet attempted to pacify his conjunx, “you’re _obsessed_. This has gone too far.”

 

“You will see Ratchet,” Drift screamed as he jabbed a finger at Ratchet’s chestplates, “you’re going to see and tremble when all of my visions come to pass.”

 

“Drift listen to yourself,”Ratchet tried to place a placating servo on his conjunx’s shoulder pauldron, “what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. You want me to ‘tremble’? This isn’t like you. None of this is like you.”

 

“You’ll see Ratchet,”Drift smacked the offending servo away from him, "you’ll see and you won’t be able to tell me you were wrong.”

 

The crew tried to help. The members of the Lost Light that were a part of the Colorist congregation tried to talk to Drift, they even brought their own offerings. After a while he had frightened them all away. Perceptor tried to talk to Drift. Ultra Magnus tried to talk to Drift. Megatron tried to talk to Drift. Rodimus tried to talk to Drift.

 

 

 

 

After one hundred years, Drift stopped talking.

 

 

 

 

After two hundred years, Drift stopped talking to Ratchet.

 

 

 

 

After three hundred years, Drift never left the altar.

 

 

 

 

After four hundred years, Drift’s vision came true.

+++

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I was wrong.”

 

 

 

Ut lumen, quod duces nobis continue ardere clara. Nunc et in aeternum. Amen.

May the light that guides us continually burn bright. Now and forevermore. Amen.

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations. If you are reading this fic then you have decided to embark on an emotional adventure with me your tour-guide/fellow sojourner. I have no idea where this fic will take me or where we will go, but I certainly hope you enjoy the ride.
> 
> Track 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDKK_kG7zkU


End file.
